Building Castles on Clouds
by PrincessChubbyCheeks
Summary: [Hak, the Princess, and all the times he'd failed her father.] His tone was light, but his words were bitter, his eyes bleak: "Should've known better. We were doomed from the start." Starts canon, will deviate as story progresses.
The first time he'd failed the King it had felt like a victory. Better than victory- it had felt like flying. It was adrenaline coursing through veins and heat rushing to cheeks and wide-eyed surprise and puff-chested pride. He would never forget the look in Kan Tae-Jun's eyes all those years ago, on that fateful day when he'd unknowingly cemented the path he was destined- or was it cursed?- to follow the rest of his life.

Perhaps unknowingly isn't the right word. He'd been well aware of the immediate consequences of saving the Princess from Kan Tae-Jun's hormonal clutches, of the freedom he'd be trading for weapons and night-shifts and responsibility and far, far too much time lending unwilling ears to pubescent lamentations over unruly ruby curls and unflinching adoration for certain blonde-haired someones. He'd thought he'd known what he was doing. And in that moment, with the barely-concealed shock and scorn and the obvious frustration of defeat on full display in Kan Tae-Jun's eyes as the Princess declared her love for her soon-to-be-bodyguard, it had felt worth it.

It had felt like butterflies.

As Hak had lain in bed that night, unable to fall asleep despite his knowledge of the intense training that was to start the following morning, the Princess' words swirled in the air around him, transforming his normally dormant, carefree mind into a cacophonous hurricane of restless thoughts, churning the butterflies in his stomach into a tumultuous flock pounding to break free from the walls of his heart, causing it to beat more and more erratically until he thought it might burst.

" _I like… I love him!"_

" _I love him!"_

I _love_ him.

He'd thought he'd known what he was doing. He'd thought he'd thought it all through. He'd thought… he'd thought…

He hadn't thought about this. _This,_ whatever _this_ was, was something he had not accounted for in his split-second evaluation of the pros and cons.

He relived the decision over and over in his head, that pivotal moment that had changed everything. _Don't get involved,_ he'd told himself at first. _Best to stay here, or you'll always be the King's dog._ But the Princess' cries grew from annoyance into genuine distress, and it had hardly been a true decision in the end.

There had been nothing to think about; there were no recalculations or second-thoughts. There was nothing but the sudden clarity of purpose and the clarity-shattering feel of the Princess, secured snugly underneath his possessive arm, clinging gratefully to his shirt. To his protection.

It was in this manner that Hak's fate- and failure- was cemented.

Unassumingly. Unabashedly.

Unremarkably. That's what he'd told himself in a vain attempt to restore order to his riotous mind. This was nothing. An unforeseen development- nothing but an insignificant fever, brought on by something strange he'd eaten at the feast the King had held in the palace's newest guard's honor. Surely, all he needed was a good night's rest; he would feel much better in the morning.

The King had thrown him a feast. Hak- nothing but an unruly orphan from the Wind Tribe- had been the guest of honor at a royal dinner held in his name. He had shaken hands with too many high-ranking nobles to keep track of. He had been the recipient of multiple toasts. He had sat on the Princess' right-hand side.

" _I like… I_ love _him!"_

The King. Think about the King. The King was not at all what Hak had expected. He would never forget the scarlet trail of blood left dripping from the King's hands, tucked away behind his back without a word as he led the Princess back to her chambers. There was a quiet sort of bravery in the King that Hak had never bothered to noticed before. He watched the two walk away, seeming to carry the excitement in the air off with them, until all that was left was the soft rattle of the wind and the feeling that, undoubtedly, everything had changed.

Slowly, almost dazedly, as he turned his eyes to the ground and began to follow the path of barely perceptible blood the King had left in his wake, Hak made a vow: he would train, fight, harden his heart; he would do whatever it took to protect her. He would eliminate all distraction and all weakness. He would not fail him.

But the vow was doomed from the start, for as Hak lay in bed that night and finally, _finally_ managed to slip away into sleep, he dreamed. He dreamed of crimson hair and delicate, untainted hands clinging to his shirt. He dreamed of butterflies and flying and he dreamed the words "I _love_ him" a thousand times, a million times, an endless stream of those three words until they lost any sense but still managed to preserve all meaning.

And as he slept he let the knowledge worm its way unrelentingly into his heart. In the morning, he would resist, he would reject, he would forget. But in his dreams, unwillingly, he understood the devastating, terrifying truth.

And the truth was, he had already failed.


End file.
